Lady Mondogreen
by Katzedecimal
Summary: Trickster's succeeded in ticking off Piper again, only to learn that Piper takes interesting revenge. All the songs are real, especially the first one, which is NSFW. Set during Countdown.


The way they were cuffed, unless they were lucky enough to find a British car, Piper was stuck driving. He'd been driving for hours and Trickster had been bitching the whole way. About the window Piper had cracked for the cool air to keep himself awake, about the way he drove, about the cops and the super-so-called-heroes and Deadshot (though who could blame him on that?) And about the music.

Piper had plugged his iPod into the lighter jack. He'd set it to what he'd hoped would be an acceptable mix but nooooooo, Trickster just had to make wise-cracks about innuendos and did-Piper-choose-this-because and is-this-trying-to-say-something and it was really getting on Piper's nerves. He was trying to be understanding: It was very late, they'd both missed meals, they'd had yet another narrow escape and they were both feeling the stress keenly. Trickster took it out on him and Piper was long on patience, but he was rapidly approaching his limit.

"It's _Stairway to Heaven_, Tricks, it's Led Zepplin," Piper grated through clenched teeth, "It is in no fashion of being any kind of queer anthem!"

"Yah, well..."

Hartley rubbed his temple, "Tricks.. It is very late, I'm very tired, we're both hungry and we still have a long way to go. Therefore, I would really appreciate it if you would _SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_

"I found a twenty in the glove box."

"Lovely. It's after midnight; the Golden Tits of America are all closed."

James stared at him for several moments, "I didn't think you acknowledged tits."

"Yeah, keep pushing, James."

"Oh you'd like that. Hey!" Trickster reached into his bag of tricks and pulled out a gizmo, which he fiddled with for several seconds.

"What?"

"There's a Wendy's up ahead."

"And by lucky coincidence, the lights over the drive-through window just blew out."

"Yeah, amazing, huh," Trickster waved the gizmo and grinned.

Twenty minutes later they were on the road again, one of their issues resolved. Billy Squier's _The Stroke_ had the misfortune of shuffling onto the iPod. "So is that a queer anthem? I betcha that's a queer anthem. If I were queer, it'd be an anthem, so it's a good thing I'm straight."

Piper heaved a harsh, sharp sigh and stomped the brakes.

"Hey, what's the big idea?!" Trickster yelped, only his seatbelt keeping him from bonking his head on the roof. Piper reached for the iPod. _Uh oh,_ Trickster thought. He sensed that Piper's patience had just snapped and wondered what he was in for. Piper didn't bite back often, but when he did, he bit **hard.**

The iPod was set back into its holder and Piper floored the car, inertia pushing both of them back against the seats. _Zero to furious in 1.2 seconds,_ James thought. He took a sip of his Coke and listened to the screaming guitars of the heavy metal music coming from the speakers.

_'Oo oo oo oo... He gives me head!'_ The sip hit the windshield. James stared at the iPod and realized no, he hadn't misheard that, that guy was definitely singing oh ye gods...! Piper was smirking. "Oh for fuck's sake, Hartley!!"

Piper reached for the volume dial and tweaked it up, "You wanted queer anthems."

"I did NOT want queer anthems! What the hell made you think.." The volume was getting steadily louder. "Okay, okay, so maybe _Stairway to Heaven_ was going a bit far! Hey, no chair-dancing while driving!" Now he was having to shout to be heard.

"Jet boy, I'm gonna make you penetrate, I'm gonna make you be a girl.."

"Alright, alright, you've made your point!! ...please stop singing along." It was no use. Every time he tried to say something, Hartley just cranked the volume up even higher. The message was pretty damned obvious. The speakers were audibly throbbing and Trickster's ears were starting to ache.

Mercifully, the song ended. "Okay, okay. I'm s_YEAAAAARGH!!"_ The speakers slammed back to life with something innocuously named _Day after Day_ by the Violent Femmes, according to the iPod display. According to the lyrics ricocheting off the backs of Trickster's eyeballs, it should've been called "Why can't I get just one fuck?"

Hartley wore a shit-eating grin. He was in a much better mood now that he'd eaten, had a chance to stretch his legs and was waling mercilessly on Trickster. The breeze was fresh on his face, the stars were bright, and the vibration from the sound waves made for a half-decent massage seat, although nothing that would entertain a woman in the right pair of jeans.

"How the hell can you stand this?" James yelled in the split seconds between songs, "Aren't you the one with the super-hearing?" He was drowned out again by another blast of heavy metal noise. At least this time he recognised _Master and Servant_, by Depeche Mode. One of the speakers broke into an atonal whine then settled into an unpleasant burr punctuating the music. "You've blown out one of the speakers," he called.

Then he frowned. That discordant of a noise should've set Hartley's teeth on edge. His cybernetic ears couldn't stand it, it was worse than fingernails down a blackboard, worse than a dentist's drill. "Can you control your hearing?!" No answer, of course. James sat back, impressed. "I _wondered_ how someone who could hear the Flash managed to miss Double Down. You must've turned down your hearing in that nightclub. The music there was pretty loud. ..although not as loud as in this car. I bet you can tune it to different frequencies, too." He patted around for a pen and found none. He thought for several minutes, trying to remember, then prodded Hartley's shoulder a few times.

Hartley looked 'round with a cold glare, then he stared. "What??"

"I'm sorry," James signed again, "I was out of line."

_"You_ know ASL?" James shrugged. Hartley considered for a moment, then turned the volume down. "Alright. This time." James beamed his 'I'm so happy' beamy smile. Hartley shook his head, "Though I swear, forgiving you is just giving you permission to do it again."

_So tread carefully,_ Trickster translated. He shrugged, "Yeah.. well... sorry. Stress and everything."

"I know."

"There's just... I gotta ask... You're probably the only one who'd know..."

"What." Hartley's voice was steel.

"Really 'wrapped up like a douche'?"

Hartley laughed, feeling the tension break. "No, it's not. It's 'revved up like a Deuce', like a Deuce Coupe."

"Okay! Phew! Y'know, I was fifteen before I learned what a douche was and then I couldn't figure out what that had to do with the song! And what about John Travolta's plywood shoes? Y'know, in _Grease_? 'I got shooooes, they're made of plywood, and I'm looooosing the soles..'"

"Are you making this up?"

"No, no, I'm serious! We thought that's what the lyrics were, when we were ten!"

By the time they'd found somewhere to pull over and sleep, Piper had remembered why he put up with Trickster's crap in the first place.


End file.
